#along with child exploitation

[number1yisuchongfan]

He’s very silly to me, and yes, he did get his foot stuck in a bear trap, his body is subjected to pain and suffering in all of my AUs. Now he’s just country! (And living in a unsafe environment)

Thaddeus in this AU’s gotta hard life, shitty transphobic father who’s emotionally neglectful and abusive, mentally ill siblings who think less of him, shitty lil town that’s being exploited by colonialist who don’t care about the people they’re exploiting, and a complicated relationship with his religious background that put a wedge between his mother and him

I’ve gone further into how Thaddeus’s farm was like here (x) and here’s to Norm and Lucy’s lil cards for this AU here (x)

[numenoria]

I hate this trend of parents embarrassing their children online/social media for not knowing how to spell. I HATE IT. ESP Black parents who do this! Then the comments are calling these poor babies all types dumb/stupid and are heavily antiblack! It's very telling when these "comedy" pages on IG repost the videos and their comments are filled with shit like "They know how to spell drugs and guns but can't spell basic words" or "Wearing $300 shoes but don't know how to spell" and ofc the ever classic "Lol black americans at their finest" These pages don't care about racism and antiblackness because they LOVE the engagement. This isn't a rant about respectability politics (because fuck that!) it's about being decent parents and protecting your children. If you see them struggling help them! Or get them some help stop embarrassing them for clicks and views. It reflects more about you as a parent and a person. And for parents who are making these videos as a "joke/skit" this applies to them as well.

[apocalypanties]

Oh man I recently discovered Along Came Abby and watching her I was like "this child is wildly gifted, she is processing data at a speed her family doesn't seem able to understand" and also "this child is asynchronously advanced and is being exploited", and then found this interview with her mom claiming GOD WANTS THEM TO KEEP POSTING THE CHILD.

Like one moment I was like "this kid is amazing!!" and the next I was like "she will be so fucking furious when she realizes her zealot mother has capitalized on her entire existence thus far" and also holy shit how is the entire account not illegal???

Child influencer parents are an evolution of beauty pageant parents. Same level as parents who force their kids into auditions and then manage their careers. Vultures.

[wincist]

If you are in any online spaces that discuss the morality of fiction or its censorship, please keep the following in mind:

CSAM refers to Child Sexual Abuse Material. This is a term that was created for use by US federal law enforcement. As such, it is important to remember that this is a term used specifically to describe illegal sexual content that is produced involving real children. the term CSAM was specifically constructed to highlight the trauma these victims experience because of this abuse, and therefore their humanity.

if you come across CSAM online, you should immediately report it to a tip line. Some websites that host their servers in the US are subject to US federal law even if the person who posted it does not currently reside in the US, so keep that in mind when reporting. again, this is involving CSAM - it is illegal sexual content involving real children.

CSEM refers to Child Sexual Exploitation Material. This is material that involves a real child in a sexualized situation, but either 1- the material itself is not illegal to possess, or 2- the material is not sexualized, but is included in a series or other content that does contain CSAM. Think along the lines or a parent with a few too many photos of their child in the bath. These images are not explicitly sexual, and are not illegal in and of themselves, but they can be used exploitatively.

If you come across CSEM online, it's still a good idea to send in a tip as well as alerting the website it was posted on. Even if the content itself isn't technically illegal, some websites do have strict rules regarding nudity and the sexualization of minors, which can help stop the spread of such materials and reduce the impact on the affected child.

CSAM and CSEM are words used to describe the assault, abuse, sexualization, and exploitation of real children. CSAM, specifically, is used as a way to identify and remove these materials.

CSAM and CSEM do not apply to fiction. They don't apply to any fictionalized or simulated child abuse or sexualized children. They only refer to real children.

Do not send in tips about fictionalized child abuse or sexualized children to tip lines meant to be used for CSAM.

Do not use the words CSAM and CSEM when discussing fictionalized child abuse or sexualized children. In a worst case scenario, it leads to people misusing tip lines due to a conflation of CSAM with fictionalized depictions.

In a more likely scenario, using CSAM to refer to fiction minimizes what CSAM was created to do - which was highlight the trauma experienced by survivors, and therefore draw attention to their humanity. By continuing to use these terms in situations that do not involve real people, it reduces that impact.

[1k1ga1]

Hello!i do not know if requests are still available,but is it alright if i ask for yandere!dion with a very kind and soft reader?like she is always giving dion compliments and hugging him,even patting his back.giving him sweets after he came back from a mission,u know?

❝ 𝓗𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝓜𝐄 , 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝓜𝐄 . . . ❞

━━ 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐇𝐖𝐀 💭 𝐑𝐎𝐗𝐀𝐍𝐀 / 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃’𝐒 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

━━ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 💭 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 𝐗 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄 ! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

━━ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 💭 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 , 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓

━━ ✧ 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 who was unfortunate enough to be born as one of the black agriches notorious for their atrocities, yet he was also just a callow child with twinkling ruby eyes and a cheeky smile and no child has the capacity to be inherently evil. dion was not born a monster, but being a monster was all he’s ever known; becoming a monster was how that young child survived his bloodline, and somewhere along the way, his emotions had died along with the child he could’ve been had he been born into a normal family.

━━ ✧ 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 who’s never known the gentleness of a mother’s touch nor did he ever get to experience the warmth of a true family. all his life, death creeps in his shadow with stygian tendrils that wreath around his ankles — his hands tainted with so much blood they’ve turned black. he is convinced that his heart has been frozen, and yet somewhere inside the uncharted corners, there is a forsaken child that he’s rejected for his own sake, desperately crying out for someone to pacify his visceral yearning.

━━ ✧ 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 who notices your eyes first. most people look at him with fear, contempt, disgust, or they wholly delude themself of the part of him that is a murderer seeking blood. you are not most people. when he first meets your eyes, there is nothing but serenity and warmth. your pupils are unclouded and he can almost see his own reflection in them — you don’t reject the part of him that is sinful and a killer. instead, you accept him as he is — flawed and tainted and pathetic — and deign him with your kind smiles anyways.

━━ ✧ 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 who doesn't understand the new emotions festering within him after meeting you. the mere thought of you intoxicates him, and it’s even worse when he recalls your affectionate gestures in his presence. you’re just so dizzyingly sweet — too sweet that he could taste you on his tongue and feel you ballooning in his chest and coiling around his cold heart, squeezing and squeezing until he’ll unfold in your grasp.

━━ ✧ 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 who doesn’t know how to receive your affection at first, and instinctively finds himself pondering about your ulterior motives. he’s never been treated with such gentleness and endearment before, and whatever crumbs of familial affection he could get out of his half-sister, it all came with a price. so, what was your price? perhaps you required his expertise as a killer, perhaps you wanted to use his status to get to his family, perhaps you wanted to exploit him for all he was worth — or, perhaps, you just wanted…him.

━━ ✧ 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 who was at an utter loss when you confessed this truth to him. the sincerity in your eyes betrayed no deception, yet how is it possible for someone to love him? how could someone like him be loved? dion agriche, convinced of his incapability to be loved, was unconvinced of your love for him. he sternly rejects you, because behind an expressionless face, he fears what he’s known all his life would only further be confirmed when you ultimately realize he’s unlovable.

━━ ✧ 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 who becomes baffled by your persistence after his rejection. he expected you to crumble and concede after being the subject of his callousness, yet you remained unfazed. you were undeterred in your mission to ‘love’ him, and witnessing your resolve — like a rock worn down by the waves — dion made a decision that would change his life; he chose to let you love him.

━━ ✧ 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 who becomes flustered when you amped up the affectionate gestures to the max after receiving his reluctant blessings. typically, your touches would only be limited to fleeting pats on the back or the handshakes that you insisted on for a bit too long. but now, the gestures has become full-on embraces whenever you catch sight of him, long hand-holding sessions as you drag him around the garden, or the occasional moments when your touch would flutter over the arch of his cheek as you admired his eyes.

━━ ✧ 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 who, with his high walls and guarded heart, finds himself completely unraveling at your touch. in his turbulent and bloody life, you become a solitary sanctuary where he can let down his guard and shed the ruthless mask of an agriche. perhaps it was something about your mollifying presence, or the way your smaller fingers would distractingly trace shapes on the back of his han, and of course, the way your embrace always smells sweetly of you and whatever tea you indulged in that afternoon.

━━ ✧ 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 who finds himself getting comfortable — too comfortable with being treated delicately and spoiling himself in the limitless shower of your affection. by now, he’s finally admitted the fact you’d weaved your way into his heart and snuggled into the corner you’d created that just seems to continue growing. and now that he’s had this realization of just how significant you’ve become to him, he begins to feel the creeping fear of his life without you in it. dion finds himself desperate to have you finally see him for all that he is and bind your very soul to him before you could have the chance to run away, and this thought gnaws at him.

━━ ✧ 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 who stumbles into your chambers late one night, the blood of his latest targets splattered across the pale canvas of his skin. his inhuman appearance was purposeful, for he had intended to test you one final time; to see if you could love even this pathetic side of him that was nothing more than a weapon of bloodshed at the whims of his family. however, when you merely wipe the blood from his face with eyes shining with concern for him, he watches as the blood smears across your skin, yet you make no comment of it. even as he laid vulnerable in your arms in his most wretched form, you don’t push him away, and only hold him dearer.

━━ ✧ 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 who realizes that although he might be an incorrigible monster in the agriche’s hand, in your gentle hands, he is worthy of love, and he finally shed tears while enveloped in the softness of your embrace.

━━ ✧ 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 who learns about love through you; love is the murmuring and crooning voice that sings him praises and admiration, the small hand that massages his scarred and burdened back like a soothing balm, the same hand that combs carefully through his hair, and the heartbeat that puts his mind to a peaceful sleep when you cradle him against your chest. for the first time in his desolate life, dion agriche discovers what love is instead of what it isn’t.

━━ ✧ 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 who learns that he too can be loved thanks to you, and who learns to love you just as utterly.

[harunayuuka2060]

*Maleficia and Baul arrived at Night Raven College and immediately asked to be escorted to Ramshackle Dorm.*

Crowley: I wouldn’t wish to trouble Her Majesty if this matter can be resolved by—

Maleficia: You may consider this matter trivial, but time is of the essence—I must act immediately.

Crowley: ...

Baul: By Her Majesty’s order, take us to the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm!

Malleus: Grandmother, you're here.

Maleficia: Have you received my message?

Malleus: Yes. I was unaware such a curse existed.

Maleficia: ...

Maleficia: This conversation can wait. At the moment, your friend requires my attention.

Malleus: *nods* Lilia and I—along with all of Diasomnia—stand ready to assist you, Grandmother.

*Maleficia and Baul anticipated resistance, but Grim simply observed as they stepped inside.*

Baul: ...Your Majesty—

Maleficia: They must have made an exception, knowing I would come to visit.

Baul: But Your Majesty, this is too—

Maleficia: *walks in*

Baul: Wait! Your Majesty!

*MC bowed in respect the moment Maleficia came into view. Yet when they raised their head, their expression turned to one of confusion—as if wondering why the Queen of Briar Valley had come all this way to see them.*

MC: What a privilege to see you again, Your Majesty.

Maleficia: ...

Maleficia: I as well, though I never imagined I would see you in such a situation.

MC: *smiles* I don’t believe this concerns Her Majesty.

Baul: You—! Have you no concept of Her Majesty’s distress?!

MC: Why the concern? My presence here harms no one.

Maleficia: My dear child, what is it you hope to accomplish? Perhaps we might discuss this together? Know that I am here to listen.

MC: ...

MC: Listen?

Baul: !!!

Maleficia: ...

MC:

MC: How unexpected to witness Your Majesty showing concern for another. Could time have softened your legendary resolve~?

Maleficia: ...

Baul: Their voice changed— No... Who are you?!

MC: Maleficia, an introduction would have been courteous, don't you agree?

Maleficia: The name of a demon shall never pass my lips.

MC: How this wounds me… I cherished our friendship, only to discover it was but my own fancy.

MC: *then lets out an unrestrained laugh*

Baul and Maleficia: ...

Maleficia: You've sunk too low—exploiting the vulnerability of an unsuspecting human.

MC: Look at them - they're painfully naive! After all they've done to help, no one valued their efforts. As a demon, perhaps I should… enlighten them to their true worth. *reached for the mirror behind them, revealing MC's reflection.*

MC: Kufufu~ A soul without escape is like a gem… polished by its own desperation.

Maleficia: !!!

Malleus: *shocked to see his grandmother wounded—though relieved to find the injury wasn’t fatal*

Maleficia: ...

Malleus: Grandmother... Did the child of man cause this?

Maleficia: Your friend would never wish me harm, Malleus.

Baul: Your Highness! A demon is seizing control of their mind!

Silver: Demon...?

Lilia: Are you saying this is more serious than we thought?!

Baul: Yes. Since our encounter, I've come to realize that human possesses powerful mana.

Malleus, Silver, Lilia, and Sebek: !!!

Sebek: Th-That can't be!

MC: ...

MC: *their eyes glazed over—the scene before them not quite registering* Have I done... something?

Grim: Grr...

MC: Queen Maleficia was here... Where is she?

*The mirror showed the fallen angel's reflection curling into a sinister smile.*

[fumekara]

IMAGINE GOJO'S SON IMITATING HIM IN EVERYTHING HE DOES

Small scenario based on my thoughts about DadGojo 

Gojo Satoru x Fem reader 

TW: SFW, just fluff (Gojo pinches the reader, but not in a sexual way), your son's name is Ame, but you can imagine it however you like. 

WC: 500

Your son had developed a habit as he grew up: that of imitating Satoru in everything he did. 

It wasn't enough that the two were identical in appearance, with the same pale skin, blue eyes and thick, white hair. If not for the difference in height, one could have mistaken them for the same person. He's like a little doppelganger. 

At only three years old, your son was chasing and imitating his father's actions and gestures as faithfully as possible for a child of his age, with clumsy, wobbly movements that made you smile every time you watched them interact with each other. You didn't know how such a small child could be so precocious and active, but this was just confirmation that Ame was indeed his father's son. 

Ever since Ame was born, Satoru had always behaved like a model father, completely in love with his son, treating him with love to the point of making him a 'daddy's boy', spoiling him in every way possible, even without your knowledge, when you had forbidden it because you feared he would become too spoiled. 

But as your son slowly began to utter his first words and take his first steps, he developed his personality accordingly. Obviously this did not go unnoticed by your husband, who exploited this habit to his liking.

You once caught them during one of their playful moments while you were in the kitchen cleaning the table. You saw your husband walking around the kitchen smiling as usual and Ame following him laughing in her high-pitched voice. For a moment you caught a glimpse of the older man giving you a sly look before walking behind you, an action that made you raise an eyebrow wondering what he was planning to do. 

But before you could realize it, you felt a pinch on your thigh that made you turn towards the culprit behind you. 

"Gojo Satoru!" you scolded him in a tone that was astonished, but also slightly amused at his audacity. Satoru said nothing and merely laughed and winked at you as he circled the table again. That's when you heard a "mama" coming from Ame's little voice accompanied by his little hand hitting you in the same spot where Satoru had pinched you and then continuing to follow your husband, leaving you speechless.  

You laughed at what had just happened and decided to go along with them and play along.

"Ouch, that hurts" you feigned dramatically as you rubbed your thigh. 

Satoru smiled at you and approached you again wrapping you in a hug "oh no poor mommy, I'm so sorry" he said in the same tone you had used before planting a series of kisses on your face and then a sweet kiss on your lips.

Ame, who had witnessed the scene, lost no time in reaching her parents. "Mama, Mama kisses" he said loudly, coming towards you and jerking his little arms to be picked up. Satoru broke away from you and picked up his son "Come here, buddy" and pulled him close to you, who immediately gave you a series of kisses on the cheek affectionately. At the end of that imitation you and Satoru hugged Ame and kissed him on one cheek at the same time, making him laugh. 

Yes, Ame really was his father's son.

[witherby]

I think a cute fic would be Alfred reading Punchline to sleep after a nightmare.

-📝

Also, LOVE EVERYTHING YOU E DONE :}

You got it! And thank you!!

Punchline - Scattered Nighttime

⚠️ Content warning: Nightmares, the Joker abuses his daughter, description of injuries ⚠️

Masterlist is Here!

There's something very strange about seeing the reason why you can't move your hand properly, despite not feeling it.

Popsy's laughing. You've pleased him, you've entertained him, and the only price you had to pay was your hand getting smashed by a pipe. It looks like a black and blue pancake, the palm flatter than normal and several fingers badly misshapen.

You turn your hand over, admiring the front and back, and try to flex the fingers. They twitch and bend at an angle that isn't normally possible. There's an odd pressure between the joints you instinctively understand is wrong. You wonder if you have enough ribbon to tie the digits back into the correct shape so that they heal into something usable again.

"What, you don't think that's funny?" Your father asks, something thin and dangerous in his tone. You immediately snap your gaze to his and the smile on your face stretches wider. "Why don't I give you something to giggle about, then!"

You see him gear up to swing the pipe at your head. An old, long-buried instinct screams at you to duck. You stand still and compliant for your Popsy, because that's what good and entertaining toys do. They always do what they're told, or they get broken and discarded.

You briefly wonder why you're still being broken if you're the favorite.

The sound of metal crashing into your ear jolts you awake, and you find yourself looking at plain, beige walls.

Your hand flies to your head, fingers brushing along the shell of your ear. You feel the sensation of touch, but hear nothing. Almost total hearing loss on the side of impact. You look at your right hand, at the small crook in your middle and ring fingers you didn't manage to completely set right as they were healing. Usable, but forever altered. The digits crack every time you flex it into a fist. Pop. Pop. Pop.

You take stock of the rest of your body while your breathing slows back to normal. Two arms. Two legs. Ten fingers. Ten toes. No new cuts. No new breaks. Some new bruises, but aside from being colorful little polka dots in your skin, you ignore them.

You're fine. But you can feel your heart hammering in your ribcage, and the ever-present tremor in your limbs has worsened after waking up. The itch of inactivity is making itself known under your skin. You don't look at the camera in the corner of your cell, but you still feel that instinct to perform, to please, to entertain.

But these people don't think you're funny. Not like Popsy. They don't get your jokes. They don't play your games. They don't tell you what they want from you, so you do nothing for as long as you can, until the boredom and the itch settles in and becomes unbearable.

Right now it's unbearable.

You get up off the floor and wander to the door, pressing your fingers into the seam between it and the wall. If you apply enough pressure, the sensor inside thinks it's got something stuck in the doorway, and it pops open. A hilarious safety measure you exploit whenever the boredom rears its head.

Wing-a-ding is watching you tonight. Or, he would be, if his attention wasn't on a case file he's got open in his lap instead of your camera feed. You could scare him for a laugh, but the way he looks at you isn't fun, so you leave him be. It's child's play to slip past him, inattentive and unaware at the bat computer, and climb the first set of stairs you find.

You creep through the grandfather clock and step into Wayne manor, casting your gaze about the brand new space with wide, curious eyes. So many breakable things! So many fancy things, too. Fancy chairs, fancy desks, fancy mirrors, fancy carpet, fancy stairs...Batsy is richy-richy-rich!

The house is large and easy to get lost in. Larger than any other building you've ever been in. It smells nicer, too. You step into the hall and pick a random direction to go, footfalls light and airy. It's a nice distraction from your dream, and the palpitations aren't as harsh the more you walk.

You find a sitting room. The chairs are big, but kinda stiff, so you don't sit long and keep going.

Another sitting room. This one has a loveseat that's bouncy. You jump up and down on it until the wheezy, light feeling you get from the broken ribs forces you to stop. You accidentally tip a vase over as you climb down, and it lies cracked on the floor, but no one comes to hurt you, so you ignore it.

You have to lie down for a couple minutes to catch your breath before you can continue, but eventually you're up and off again.

There's a big book room. You wander between the shelves and trail your fingers along the spines, eyeing the colors and symbols detailed on each one that stands out to you. You pick one and pluck it out of the shelf, thumbing through the pages as though you had any chance of deciphering the messages printed on them. You wonder what story lies inside it with a curious quirk of your lips.

You think of calm, even tones and a quiet voice, reading a tale about an angry little girl who has to adjust to a whole new way of living now that her parents are gone. You wonder if...

The book falls from your fingers. It's more amusing to leave it on the floor than put it back where it belongs, so you knock a couple more down to join it before you leave the big book room with a snicker.

You've just stumbled upon the kitchen when someone clears their throat behind you.

Grinning, you twirl around and clasp your hands behind your back, finding yourself looking up at Alfred.

"Lady Punchline," he greets you. He's wearing pajamas, so you must have awoken him while exploring. He doesn't look upset. "Can I get you anything?"

You get asked that a lot. You don't know what the right answer is. You don't know how to play their games yet. You just smile and click your feet together. The noise is soothing.

Click. Click. Click.

"It's quite late," Alfred continues, "or early, depending on your opinion. Why don't I get you settled into a bed and we can read another chapter of The Secret Garden together?"

He holds out a hand for you to take. You wait for it to curl into a fist, wait for it to dart forward and strike you somewhere, but it doesn't.

Alfred continues to stand there with you, waiting quietly. You look at his hand for a long time, staring at every weathered groove and line. You notice the uniformity of his fingers, the callouses borne of hard work, the lack of scarring.

You brush your right hand against his palm, comparing the shapes against your own. He's very warm to the touch.

Click. Click. Click.

"Lady Punchline," he speaks up. "I will take you to my quarters for the night. If that isn't acceptable to you, all you need to do is remove your hand from mine, and we can go somewhere else."

A command. No...a direction. A plan. You just have to follow his plan. That's fine. You are Popsy's obedient little toy, and you're very good at it. You can follow Popsy's plans. You can comply with others, too.

You thread your crooked fingers in his pretty ones. He gives you a single nod and a featherlight squeeze, then leads you through the halls of the large house.

You walk for a while together. You have to stop twice when the wheezing gets bad and the world starts to tip around like a rollercoaster, but Alfred just keeps his gentle hold of your hand and guides you along when you're ready.

Soon enough, you're ushered into a large bedroom and tucked into a bed that could easily fit ten of you. It's both soft and firm, supporting your back and easing the pressure in your ribs and warming you in a way you're not used to. You stare at the ceiling and feel your heart beating heavily against your chest while Alfred grabs his book and sits in the armchair a couple feet away.

"The last we left off was chapter six. I shall start from there," he says.

You let his voice wash over you and drown out all other sensations. Your racing heart slows down. The trembling in your limbs lessens. Popsy's voice echoing around in your mind quiets, until all you can hear is Alfred's soft, steady cadence and all you can think about is Mistress Mary, learning how to be a child.

Your eyes slip closed and you're out before he's halfway through the chapter.

[staravyz]

︖﹖ㅤㅤSenku w/a Lucky-Charm!s/o

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ❕️ㅤclick4rules—4masterlist—4part2

ㅤㅤ🔭ㅤㅤ—ㅤ(dr. stone) ishigami senku x reader

ㅤ﹑tags ... fluff/headcanons/implied relationship if u squint really hard/reader glaze/multitalented!reader/probably ooc lol/sfw/short

ㅤ౨ৎㅤ—ㅤa/n﹕negative + positive = balance

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤpre petrification

according to everyone in the classes you shared back then, you two were academic rivals turned lovers

minus the rivals part

they just can't exactly comprehend how senku bagged you so

he's a genius by hard work, you collect skills like minecraft achievements

when senku met you as a child, you were holding a four leafed clover.

when he met you as a teenager, you won the lottery.

it was around senku's early teenage years that he realized you were a walking lucky charm blessed by the universe

and along with that revelation came the decision that you were too useful of a companion to let go of anytime soon. (aka a crush)

he was aware you'd have no trouble making friends in high school, but he figured if you got distant, the average success rate of his experiments would decrease significantly.

see, if luck could be measured in integers, senku's would be knee deep in the negatives

you, however, are frolicking through a field of flowers in bliss

notice the difference?

senku was fortunate enough to have crossed paths with you in childhood more than once, back when he cared very very very very little for socialization and friends

either you also joined the science club or maybe arts and crafts with yuzuriha or even just a classmate of taiju's, you and senku were always bound to reunite

u guys ever notice some random person at school and suddenly you start to see them everywhere?

you are that person to senku.

i imagine senku was having trouble with a certain science experiment and no matter the formula he used, it just kept blowing up in his face.

senku's patience was running out by that point and it wasn't until YOU gave it a try that it finally worked.

and that's what made it click for him

as time passed, senku's attempts at finding a logical explanation for your unnatural luck began to wander from logics to philosophy— something he wouldn't normally resort to.

your fortune is with you for a good reason, he concludes.

your luck isn't something you exploit or flaunt

you're generally a wonderful person, especially compared to him lol

no wonder nobody else questions you as much as he does.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤpost petrification

senku discovered your statue just by the entrance of a cave, somewhat upright and with little to no damage besides the natural erosion caused by time and weather inflicted onto your stone body.

senku's only reaction was a smile and sigh, of course your luck transcended time and petrification.

it wasn't like he doubted it, there was no need to worry after all.

things fell back into routine pretty quick after you had woken up

just having you around made things easier

ㅤ౨ৎㅤ—ㅤa/n﹕i love mary sues

©️ staravyzㅤ(¬_¬") do not steal, translate, or repost.

[afloweroutofstone]

Part 2: How Trump 2.0 has harmed civil liberties and civil rights

Part two of my summary report of the second Trump administration's first 100 days is out now. You can follow along on Medium (where you can sign up for email updates) or on my website.

In part one, we focused on democracy and government. Today, we're looking at 23 ways that the second Trump administration has worsened US policies on the freedom of speech and press, immigration, civil rights, mass surveillance, the justice system, women's rights, LGBTQ rights, and more:

20. Repressing Free Speech 21. Restricting the Freedom of the Press 22. Attacking Opponents 23. Targeting Palestine Activists 24. Exploiting Anti-Terrorism Policies 25. Expanding Government Surveillance 26. Waging War on Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion 27. Reversing Civil Rights 28. Launching Mass Deportations 29. Invoking the Alien Enemies Act 30. Militarizing the Border 31. Targeting Child Migrants 32. Terrorizing Legal Immigrants 33. Attacking Foreign Students 34. Turning Our Back on Refugees 35. Encouraging Police Violence 36. Expanding the Death Penalty 37. Worsening Mass Incarceration 38. Restricting Abortion 39. Weakening Sexual Assault Protections 40. Undermining LGBTQ Rights 41. Attacking Trans People 42. Weakening Separation of Church and State

[nomsfaultau]

Dark sbi where Tommy accidentally kidnaps Philza, not knowing he’s a crime lord. And he swears it was an accident! He just, you know, panicked. Tommy and Tubbo were just minding their own business slapping graffiti on a building (practicing their art skills, you see) when a cop started screeching at them, apparently not an appreciator of the fine arts. And since Mrs. Innit would KILL him if he got arrested, Tommy panics and takes a hostage, shouting at the cop not to take a step further or he’ll kill the random civilian he’s ducked behind so he can’t get shot.

Meanwhile Philza isn’t entirely paying attention, and realizes there’s suddenly a small child sheltering behind him from a cop. He gives the cop the nastiest look imaginable, which causes them to back off enough that Tommy thinks his plan is working. Once the negotiations start Philza is baffled by who would have the gall to kidnap him, and so poorly at that. Frankly it’s an umbrage to face the work of an amateur.

Well, till the abductor asks his name. “…do you not know who I am.?”

Tommy squints at the guy. His suit looks kinda fancy? Is it better or worse for him if he managed to randomly capture some Wall Street schmuck? “Hell no,” he hisses. “And I don’t care. I’m a dangerous guy alright? You don’t know what I’ll do to you.”

Philza’s laugh causes the cop to advance, wagering the situation isn’t intense. But because Tubbo’s ‘Yes And’ game is a force to be reckoned with, he casually pulls out a nerf gun (painted to look real for a prank on Ranboo) and trains it on the cop. Philza is positively delighted as he realizes just how amateur his abductors are. Oh this will be a riot to watch.

With more bluffing than Tommy knew he had in him, promising the hostage 20 bucks if he pretended to go along with it, the pure manic chaos bleeding from Tubbo’s eyes and ample gun waving, and creative use of spray paint in the eyes of the chasing cops, Tommy and Tubbo somehow manage to book it. For some reason the hostage keeps up with them instead of escaping. Huh. Can you develop Stockholm syndrome that fast? Tommy would ask, but he’s panting from sprinting. And as they live in an unjust world, hostage guy isn’t even breaking a sweat despite the three piece suit.

“You’re not going to get far on foot,” Philza murmurs. As corrupt and useless as the cops are for most things in this city, he doesn’t imagine there’d actually be that much fuss over a random man being kidnapped, but he wonders what they’ll do if spooked a little more. It’s been amusing thus far. The boys bicker, then elect to force him to drive as neither have licenses. They don’t ask him to drive to their homes, instead some secondary location. Smart, albeit Philza will definitely know both addresses within the hour.

While Tommy is busy ‘threatening’ Philza about the consequences of not getting them there, Tubbo just leans over from a bag of chips he’s munching on and offers them to Phil. Tommy rounds on him, less for showing exploitable kindness to the hostage and more for eating the Doritos that were meant to be his. Philza almost chides them for revealing each other’s names, but decides it might just be easier to hand them notes at the end of this. So far they aren’t getting a passing grade in abduction. But he has to admit it’s far more entertaining than the ‘business’ meeting he was planning to attend.

(Techno, meanwhile, hasn’t heard from Philza and is going BALLISTIC trying to figure out who kidnapped him. From the police report Phil just kinda went along with it, and looked terrified after a private exchange with the abductor, which has to mean the threat is ungodly to convince the Angel of Death to submit. Techno’s about to have a panic attack imagining the unthinkable horrors happening to his best friend, and is only holding it off by doing atrocities about it. This is the THIRD secret criminal organization he’s ripped apart in the last two hours and PHILZA ISNT HERE EITHER!?)

Philza has decided he likes his kidnappers. They’re not experienced in the slightest, but they make up for it with bravado, determination, and a certain lack of rationality that is necessary in the line of business Philza is in. Yes. They’ll do nicely if given a little guidance.

It’s half an hour before either of them notice Philza is driving aimlessly and they don’t recognize the city around them at all. “Hm? Next time I don’t recommend you give the hostage control of the vehicle. I could have immediately driven to the police station.”

Tommy frowns, almost more nervous at the implication the obvious blackmail would go unused. “…why didn’t you?”

“There’s no love lost between the cops and I. And even more importantly, you amuse me. I like your…potential.” He grins at the soft click of Tommy covertly trying the handle and finding the car doors locked. “Getting out at this speed is almost always fatal, Tommy.”

Tubbo lifts the muzzle of the fake gun towards him. “Let us go right. now.”

Philza leans over, ruffling Tubbo’s hair. The teen gulps at the glimpse of the holster Philza’s jacket was hiding, sharing a wide eyed look with Tommy. “I’m not exactly scared of foam bullets, mate.” He chuckles lowly at the tension freezing both of them. “Relax. You’ll be home by dinner. After you went through all the effort of kidnapping me to avoid trouble with your parents, I don’t intend to ruin it. I like you two; you have spunk I don’t see often. After all, it takes a lot of guts to kidnap the leader of the Syndicate.”

[fyxestroll]

Sweet Old Hereafter (1)

next>>

pairing: sanguinius x reader (fem.)

description: why does the embrace of a stranger, a god feel so familliar?

warnings: descriptions of workplace accidents and wounds.

notes: have had this fic's concept slow cooking in my brain for a while now. sorry if I've been MIA busy with school.

As a child, your parents would take you to Angel’s Fall with them. You would be sitting on your father’s water cart while your mother helped your father haul it along. The statue of Holy Sanguinius would serve as a beacon, its figure visible in even the thickest Red Mists as if illuminated. On the way, your mother would tell tales of the Great Angel’s exploits from His war against the mutants of ancient Baal to His noble sacrifice against the archtraitor.

Fascination was a given; your parents expected that fascination to become faith. Sadly, piety was one of the few things you hadn’t inherited from them. Mass, Sanguinala and other holidays were attended for the sake of routine—normalcy and you mainly looked forward to the food served after.

(You try your best to ignore how Wrong it felt to pray to the Great Angel. That was heresy.)

But that was just you.

Earthly matters are easier to wrap your head around. They’re easier to understand, and the cause and effect are visible with clear physical consequences. There was a clear line to trace, unlike in faith with simple logic to answer to whos, whats and whys. You consider yourself practical, instinct and mind geared towards not just surviving in the sands but to thrive in it.

It’s how you survived in Baalfora, survived the call to arms against the xenos and now, how you will survive after the Devitation.Your family considers it the Emperor’s will, you consider it your own.

Ignoring the skin-deep itching on your stomach, you haul another crate above the titanic walls of the Arx Angelicum. The honor and awe (and the feeling of sinning) of being present at such a holy place had worn off after a month of back-breaking work. The progress in rebuilding the planet and the moons’ infrastructure was astonishingly quick for mortals and sluggishly slow for the Angels. 

You stop for a moment to drink water from a canteen strapped to your tool belt. Being under the Angels’ care had many perks, and a steady source of water was one of them, but even with a steady, constant supply, you still take your time to savour your thirst being quenched, albeit momentarily.

“You have stopped for too long, girl.” You freeze as the vox veiled voice reaches your ears and you come to see an Angel clad in crimson armor approaching. You twist the cap back on your canteen and lower your head.

“Apologies, Lord Sophos.”

The Astartes shakes his head, a gesture that looks awkward but not out of character for Lord Sophos himself “Worry not, girl,” he assures, “your exhaustion is understandable,” and lifts the large crate with inhuman ease. “But, we have much to do.”

He tilts his head towards a much smaller crate. Immediately, you understand his wordless instructions. “Come now.”

He leads the way through the maze of scaffolding that covers the outer wall of the Arx. The Angels have a name for this wall, the Arx Mucus or something. To you and your fellow mortals, this wall was just simply the outer wall or The Wall. Nearly a year ago, you had almost died outside of it in defence of this fortress-monastery.

Beyond it, remnants of the alien swarm still lingered.

You'd rather not think about that.

Pushing away the lingering memories and unnecessary dread your redirect your focus on keeping up with Lord Sophos. He has already troubled himself by slowing his pace, you wish not to trouble him further.

Any other Angel would have continued forward, forgetting your presence entirely and leaving you lost in this maze. But not Lord Sophos. Lord Sophos is kind and far kinder than any of his brothers that you have encountered. The sons of Sanguinius had inherited His benevolence and nobility, but none of his mythical patience. When interacting with mortals, at least. Lord Sophos is the only exception you’ve encountered. 

You reunite with the rest of your group. It consists of a mix of chapter serfs, civilians and a lone Astartes—Lord Sophos, who took on the role of foreman. None of you had experience in any form of construction work. Except for Kua, a fellow resident of Baalfora who was a carpenter by trade. 

“We have returned.” The Angel’s voice booms, sending vibrations to your bones. You briefly wonder if that volume could be achieved without the armour’s vox unit.

Alcaryu, a chapter serf, approaches and gets on his knee. “We have done as you have ordered, my lord.” He reports eagerly. Too eagerly for your liking. The young man (close to your age, sadly) acts like a living caricature of a loyal attendant straight out of a holo-drama. 

“Good.” Lord Sophos responds without missing a beat. “Continue dismantling the plates as the techpriests instructed.”

“What of the crates, my lord?”

“Equipment for servitors.”

Alcaryu stiffens. The air around your small group prickles. Good to know you weren’t the only one who found servitors unnerving. 

“Understood.”

You settle back into the flow of work with the rest of your group, unscrewing armoured plating and noting down damaged sub-sections. Time goes by quickly, the group working in practised sync. 

 Soon enough, Baalprimus and Baalfora were visible in the early evening sky. They glowed two different shades of pale silver, with Baalprimus being the brighter of the two and Baalfora being the larger.

The twin moons reminded you of your grandmother’s heirloom silverware she inherited from her grandmother. She insisted it was meant for special occasions, but never used it for any.

The set was lost much to your elder sister’s chagrin. She was eager to use it once you sent word of your cousin’s induction into the chapter’s ranks.

You eye the silver of Baalfora, wondering what she was doing right now. You’re glad she weathered the storm with her husband’s tribe.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Lord Sophos appears beside you and stands in silence. Over the horizon, flashes could be seen. A battle of some sort was taking place. If you listened intently, you could hear the sound of guns ringing in the distance.

A breeze blows, it’s dry, hot and stings your skin. It cools the sweat on your skin and makes the view disturbingly scenic.

Click. 

Hiss.

Lord Sophos removes his helm. 

“Do you miss home?” he asks, his voice a melodious tenor. It was an odd question, considering who's asking.

“I do.” You miss your family, the woven mat you called your bed and the night market down the Sanguinian Way. The home you’ll return to won’t have any of that, not for a few years at the very least. That thought makes the homesickness worse, so you try not to think about it often.

A comfortable blanket of silence falls over both of you, the relaxed thrum of a long day’s work ending underneath.

You glance at Lord Sophos and wonder if Angels feel homesickness still. 

There’s something clenched within his armoured hands. He tightens and loosens his grip on it as he locks onto the distant battle. A shadow falls over his brown eyes, sadness and rage swirling within.

Danger. It reminds you. 

You stand beside an Angel of Death, a being that could end your life in a heartbeat. 

Troubled. You realise.

Something was troubling Lord Sophos. 

‘Are you alright?’ You wanted to ask, but you remind yourself of your position. Compassion, however, gets the better of you, and you opt to silently stay by his side. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done this.

 The battle in the distance slows, implied by the gradual lessening of flashing lights. Lord Sophos looks down at you, mouth open to dismiss you for what was likely the last time.

“Girl-”

CRASH!

Something hits the watchtower above.

You had half a second to register it before pure pandemonium. 

Debris falls, glass and scaffolding hurling down like meteors. A few unlucky workers and servitors are crushed in a display of sickening gore. You only see a glimpse of it as Lord Sophos tackles you onto the ground and uses his body as a shield. Rushed messages are sent through the vox informing the chain of command.

A large pane of glass falls onto Lord Sophos’ back. He remains steadfast. The glass shatters into pieces. A few shards cut your hands and face.

Then silence.

The only sound you could hear was the sound of your own heavy, panicked breathing.

Lord Sophos is quick to his feet and assesses the situation.

Something lands on your face.

A feather?

It’s large, larger than any avian you could think of and colored a beautiful shade of off-white you’d only seen on pilgrims’ clothing. Blood from your cuts stains the barbs, creating a wonderful but upsetting combination.

THUD!

Something lands. It sounded like a slab of meat being slammed onto the ground. 

A scream, deranged and frenzied, pierces the air. It’s Kua

You push yourself to get on your feet lest you get crushed by stray debris. The cuts on your hands and face sting, warm rivulets of blood flowing from them. Your legs shake, out of shock—or maybe fear, you can’t tell.

In front of you is the thing that crashed into the watchtower, a crumpled heap of feathers. In the background, Kua is screaming out in pain. A metal pole had pierced through him, pinning to the wall.

The thing moves

Everyone stills.

And—

And. You let out a shaky breath as the thing—no, the man stretches out his wings. White feathers shine in the moonlight as his blonde hair sways along with the wind.

Sanguinius. Your mind provides. 

But what was in front of you was not the likeness of the Great Angel you’ve seen a thousand times over, but of a predator. Like a blood eagle, He scans a crowd, ready to pounce as He stands on all fours.

You hold your breath, instincts screaming for you to run, to hide. You do neither.

He turns His head to your direction. 

Your heart stops.

Your eyes meet.

Run!

Run! 

RUN!

But you can’t. Fear has seized you.

The Great Angel infront of you is a far cry from any artwork’s depiction. Missing was the nobility, the kindness. In it’s place is the look of a wild animal, spooked and pushed to a corner. 

There’s a brief flash of recognition in His wild eyes.

He pounces.

Time slows. The millisecond before contact felt like forever. In which you braced yourself as best you could, fully expecting to be mauled and torn to shreds, maybe even eaten alive.

None of that happens.

Instead, a hand cups your face, and another pulls you into a close embrace. The action is familiar, practised like He has done this a thousand times over.

He wipes the blood from your face with a swipe of His thumb, uttering frantic words that sounded like an apology. The language is foreign, neither high nor low Gothic, not even one of the many dialects of Baal. The way He speaks it is clumsy, words so obviously pronounced wrong it was evident even to a non-speaker.

He pulls away briefly, holding you at arm's length. You tense. You’re forced to come face to face with Him.

He’s beautiful, you thought. None of the countless statues and murals of Him did Him justice. None captures that dangerous edge just below the surface. 

And his eyes.

Throne! His eyes!

You could drown in them. 

A sea of blue tinged with blood red as if someone had bled into water. A storm of emotions swelled within them. Anger. Joy (?). Sadness. Grief.  And—

He lets out a shaky breath and pulls you into an embrace, tighter than the last. He buries His head in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent. It’s familiar, intimate. To Him at least. Then you feel it, warm against your skin.

Tears.

—Relief

Your fear morphs into confusion, and you're unsure of what to do. Instinct tells you to push the Great Angel off, the sudden physical contact and weight throwing you off kilter. You restrain yourself from doing so.

Sobs wracked His body as He softly cried in your ear, still speaking words in that unfamiliar language. It sounded like apologies.

As His tears wet your shirt, all you can do is stare into the distance, confused and with a gnawing feeling that you’ve forgotten something.

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (19/20)

Heeeey, my beloved readers!! Well, this chapter is so fucking intense... I don't even know how starts to describe that. So, it's better you guys read it hahaha 😂

Enjoy it <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Warnings: angst, blood, hate sex, anal sex, sex and sex (did I ever said sex?)

Summary: after you wake up you demand explanations, but of course the plan doesn't go as you expected.

Curse

Darkness was the first thing you felt when consciousness returned.

A deep void, like falling endlessly, trapped between reality and oblivion. Wanda’s words still echoed in your mind, blending with the whispers of Alice and Billy.

"You're being used."

The sentence was poison, seeping into your thoughts, corroding every shred of certainty you had.

A source.

That’s what you were, wasn’t it?

Just a source of power, a reservoir of energy to be exploited. That’s what they said. But if that were true, then why were you here? Why were you wrapped in warmth and softness, instead of cold and loneliness?

Your hands gripped the soft sheets beneath you. Sheets? Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, heart pounding against your ribs.

You were awake.

Alive.

Your eyes opened slowly, and the faint glow of ambient light spilled into your vision. The room around you was familiar—the white walls with dark accents. So elegant, so refined.

Their room.

Shit. You missed this—the unmistakable scent of spices mixed with something floral.

And then, you felt it.

Hands.

Hands gliding gently across your skin, tracing your arm as if to make sure you were still there.

A tender touch, a possessive one.

Your body was cocooned in warmth, protected by presences you knew better than anything else in the world.

"There, there, little one. You're safe now." Agatha’s low, raspy voice brushed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Her tone was a mix of relief and control, as if she were reclaiming something that should’ve never been taken away.

Rio was on the other side, her touch just as present, running through your hair, along the curves of your face.

"Your mommies are here now, darling." Her whisper was both a promise and a reminder that no matter what anyone said—no matter what you were—you were still theirs.

The warmth around you vanished the moment you pulled away.

Their touch still burned on your skin, but now it was different—it wasn’t comfort. It was a reminder. A reminder that everything you felt, everything you were, had been shaped by them.

Rio's eyes widened as you slipped out of her arms. Her face flickered between surprise and hurt, but Agatha was the first to recover.

"Sweetheart, please—"

"Don't call me that!" Your voice cut through the air like a blade. "Don’t you dare call me that!"Anger bubbled inside you—hot, suffocating.

Your chest heaved, your heart pounding as if trying to break free from your ribs.

The room that once felt safe now seemed claustrophobic, like the walls were closing in on you.

You swayed slightly, dizzy from the sudden movement, but kept your posture stiff.

They were both watching you, waiting, like you were a child throwing a tantrum.

"You lied to me." Your voice was lower now, but so much heavier than shouting. It carried something far worse—disappointment. "You made me believe that I was... that this was real. My feelings... It was all just a spell, wasn't it? A cheap trick to keep me close. That’s all it was, right?"

Agatha opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, carefully choosing her words.

Rio, always the less calculated one, stepped forward. "It’s not like that—"

"No?"

You laughed bitterly, taking a step back."Then explain it to me, Rio."

Her name sounded foreign. It felt wrong to call your Mama that.

"Explain why it feels like I'm dying when I’m not with you! Why I wake up drained after a night’s sleep, like a part of me has been ripped away! Is that just a side effect of this shit?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Rio looked away.

Agatha sighed, suddenly looking older than ever.

“Fuck.” Rio muttered under her breath, silently cursing Wanda. "Please, sweetheart… sit down. You’re still weak." The green witch asked gently.

You obeyed—not because you wanted to, but because your body needed to.

"We… we never meant for this to happen—" You let out a sarcastic laugh, your head pounding.

"Oh, of course. Because the plan was to drain me dry until I dropped dead!" You were furious. So angry your teeth clenched tight.

Agatha breathed in deeply, searching for patience. She’d need it. You were her babygirl—she should know how to handle you. But she was shaken too.

Exhausted.

Rio closed her eyes for a moment, like your words had physically hurt her. When she looked back at you, there was a raw honesty in her gaze. Almost helpless.

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this," Rio admitted, her voice tight, her hands wringing together like they were looking for something to hold onto.

"At the beginning… yes. You were a source. Your untouched energy was something we couldn’t ignore. But then, you became—"

"Everything." Agatha finished softly. The weight of exhaustion hung on her shoulders, making every word feel heavier. "So much so that the plan didn’t matter. Power didn’t matter. At some point, you stopped being a means to an end."

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms. "And I’m supposed to believe that?"

"I love you."

Just like that.

So sudden, it stole your breath.

So sudden, you took a step back.

Rio’s confession came as a whisper, but it thundered in your mind.

"I love you," she repeated, firmer now. "No matter what they told you. No matter what you think about us... I love you. And so does your Mommy."

Your throat tightened. The temptation to surrender, to close your eyes and let yourself be held again, was nearly unbearable.

But no.

They couldn’t just say those words—those three fucking words you so badly wanted to hear—and expect everything to be forgiven.

You shook your head, eyes falling to the floor in disbelief.

They unbalanced you so easily.

Fuck.

"It’s not that simple," you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady. "You can’t just show up in armor on a white horse and say that. Not after everything."

Yes. They could.

Your heart beat wildly, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

Emotion.

Ready to fall.

They loved you. Your mommies. The women who saved you—and held you captive at the same time—from a cruel, hard life.

But you knew you had to resist.

Because it hadn’t been easy for you. None of this.

The one with blue eyes had a shaky breath, and you couldn’t tell if it was from anger or just exhaustion.

"Then tell us," Agatha spoke, her voice low but steady.

"What do we have to do for you to forgive us?"

You stared at them, eyes sharp.

They were drained, weary, almost pleading.

They weren’t in a position to demand anything.

You took a deep breath, your decision already made.

"On your knees."

The order was clear. Irrefutable.

Agatha kept her gaze fixed on you, as if she could intimidate you, bend you, make you submissive again with her presence alone. But no longer. You were no longer that defenseless girl who clung to them for safety without question.

"What?" Agatha’s incredulous voice came out hoarse, spitting the t, laced with wounded pride.

You tilted your head slightly, looking down at her. "I’m sure your ears still work fine despite your age. On your knees. Both of you."

Rio closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling heavily. She was tired, yes, but you saw something else in her—redemption. A genuine need to be forgiven. To have her little girl back in her arms.

Unlike Agatha, who always needed to be in control, Rio was willing to bow if that’s what it took to bring you back to them.

The artist was the first to give in. Slowly, she slid down to the floor, her eyes locked on yours—dark chocolate, burning with desire and despair. A shiver ran down your spine.

That was the power they had over you.

The same power that kept you captive and enchanted, even now, when you should be hating them.

Agatha, however, hesitated. Her fists clenched at her sides. Small flickers of purple energy vibrated beneath her hands, a reflection of the storm raging inside her. You noticed the faint tremble in her fingers.

She was resisting.

You stepped closer, shrinking the space between you. "What’s the matter, Mommy? Is this too humiliating for you?" Your voice was low, almost teasing. "Because it was for me. When I found out what you did. When I realized I couldn’t live without you, but you could live without me. Without pain. Without despair."

Agatha’s jaw clenched, but she said nothing.

"You used me." Your voice was thick with a mix of rage and need. "You tied my heart to yours, made me dependent on something that was never real. But you? You remain free. You think that’s fair?"

The silence stretched.

Finally, with visible reluctance, Agatha dropped to her knees. You watched every small movement—the way her shoulders tensed, the unevenness of her breath. Seeing Agatha Harkness yield to you was intoxicating.

You crossed your arms, chin raised. "If you want my forgiveness. If you truly want me back. You know what you have to do. Bind your hearts to mine. Feel what I feel. Hurt like I hurt."

Rio swallowed hard, her expression vulnerable. "If we do this... there's no going back. We’ll be bound forever."

"Exactly." You looked down at them, a slow smile creeping onto your lips. "And only then, will I decide if I forgive you or not."

You waited. Watched as Rio looked at Agatha, and something passed silently between them—something you couldn’t quite decipher, but it didn’t matter.

You had already won this battle.

The silence broke with the sound of glinting metal sliding from its sheath.

Rio raised the curved dagger, the ancient blade gleaming in the dim room light.

"Blood for blood," she intoned, her voice echoing like an ancestral chant. The blade whispered across your palm with a wet kiss. You didn’t flinch. The pain was sharp, sweet, necessary.

Her eyes were fixed on you—devoted, lustful, and surrendered. The witch looked ethereal, dressed in shadows and power, her hair slicked to her face with sweat.

So beautiful it hurt.

She didn’t hesitate. Drew the blade across her own palm, a precise, ceremonial cut. Blood spilled in thick, dark red streams, pulsing with raw energy. She bit her lip and moaned softly at the pain.

Or was it pleasure?

Then it was Agatha’s turn. Her pale, elegant fingers gripped the dagger, and the hesitation was palpable. The witch’s pride was her armor—one now shattered.

She sliced her palm firmly. She didn’t moan. She didn’t falter. She simply breathed deeply and let her blood mingle with Rio’s, dripping to the ground, sealing the first phase of the ritual.

You watched from above, your body on high alert, breath trembling, latent power buzzing on your skin like electricity.

Fuck.

Sexy as fuck.

The crimson red contrasted perfectly with their skin. Your mouth watered, and you couldn’t understand why it was affecting you this much.

Rio crawled toward you, her knees sliding across the cold floor. Every movement was soaked in reverence and lust. Her gaze was submissive and hungry, her mouth slightly open, blood still dripping from her hand. When she reached you, she said nothing.

She just looked at you.

Like you were her goddess. Her executioner and her salvation.

You barely noticed when Agatha, still kneeling, took your left hand—the one with the scar from the day you cut yourself with glass on set.

Rio watched, her fingers tracing the scar's outline with devoted tenderness. "Aggie was so greedy that day," she murmured, her voice husky, almost a moan. "Sucking every drop of your blood..."

Her touch on your finger made you shiver. The heat, the power, the desire… it all swirled into a delicious and dangerous storm.

"Now it’s Mama’s turn."

Then she brought your hand to her lips.

And licked.

She licked with hunger, with devotion, like she was devouring you. The blood. The past. The pain. She drank it all in.

"Bound. Forever," Agatha growled, more to herself than to you.

Rio pressed her wounded palm against Agatha’s, then against yours. The blood mixed—hot and alive.

"Three hearts. One curse."

The pain was lightning. You fell backward, your spine colliding with the marble altar as you saw everything:

Agatha, as a child, hiding her tears, trying to be brave as Evanora prepared to burn her alive.

A young Rio, accepting her fate, seeing her own face transformed into Lady Death for the first time.

You, curled inside a closet, listening to screams that never ended. Wishing your mother would come back.

The connection was a volcano. An abyss. A womb.

“Fuck!” you moaned. “What is this?” Your mind was foggy, a mixture of lust and confusion.

Rio smiled wickedly. “That, darling… is what happens when three souls decide to bleed together.”

She was panting, her eyes glassy with power and longing, her hand still pressed to your skin.

Magic vibrated around you—purple, green, black—a sensual mist that tinged the air, made the floor quake, and your skin burn. Every beat of your heart ached… because now, it no longer beat alone.

Agatha approached, her blue eyes wild, almost feral. She pulled your body downward.

And you fell to your knees, now just as surrendered as they were.

"You little plague…” she murmured, voice low and hoarse, full of reverence and restrained fury. “You poisoned us with your own pain. Made us addicted to your care. Who’s the real witch between us?”

“You chose to start this,” you whispered, drawn to them by something primal, still dizzy from the vision of having them both at your feet. “Now finish it.”

Rio slipped her knees between your legs, her bloodstained fingers caressing your bare thigh. “Oh. No. You misunderstood.” The taller one said, her words as soft as a snake ready to strike.

“We’re going to do more than finish you, little one,” she purred, her smile feline. “We’re going to start over. Do it all again.”

Your Mama's fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck, a caress heavy with promises.

You gasped, surrendering fully to her touch.

Agatha came from behind, her mouth pressed against your neck, biting in that blend of brutality and softness that only she could master—a possessive gesture that made you moan.

The heat of her body against yours was hypnotic. You could feel her nipples, hard as stone, against your back.

The elder witch’s fingers wrapped firmly around your throat, forcing you to look straight ahead—right into Rio’s hungry eyes.

“Never free again,” Agatha whispered, her voice sounding like a pagan prayer, an ancient spell murmured against your hot skin. “Not you. Not us.”

“Three hearts,” Rio added, and her fingers slid between your legs with a slowness that was almost wicked, as if each second of that surrender had to be carved into you. “One curse.”

You arched, your body igniting like incense on coals—burning, fragrant, unraveling in pleasure.

The room pulsed to the rhythm of something older than desire itself.

The scar on your finger throbbed.

But now, it wasn’t pain.

It was ecstasy.

It was magic.

It was belonging.

It was love.

Three hearts had been sealed. An unbreakable, eternal bond. A fate stitched together with blood and lust. This time, three hearts had bled. Three hearts now bound to one another, tangled in a knot even time wouldn't dare undo.

Rio tightened her grip on the back of your neck, pulling you forward firmly—then held out her cut palm before your eyes.

Blood. Dark red. Thick. Warm.

It shimmered in the ritual light like sacred wine. It dripped, heavy, toward the already stained floor.

Your mouth opened on instinct. You were salivating.

Hungry.

Like a starving dog. Like a worshipper before an offering.

“Do it,” your Mama commanded, her voice hoarse, laced with impure reverence.

And you obeyed.

Your tongue touched the wound with a nearly desperate thirst. The taste was metallic, alive, a silenced scream. You moaned as you swallowed, a muffled and primal sound, like that of a wounded, devoted creature.

Rio watched, chest heaving, eyes locked on you—on how your face transformed as her blood slid down your mouth, dripping from your chin, staining the floor.

What a delicious mess you were.

Agatha pulled you back and turned your face with silent authority. Her eyes burned with a mix of jealousy and pure desire.

She licked the blood from your lips with the precision of someone who knew every taste you carried. And when her tongue invaded your mouth—hungry, possessive—you lost your mind.

Your moan echoed across the altar like a profane prayer—long, trembling, needy.

You began to grind against the carpeted floor, aching for something hard and thick to ride.

Agatha brought her own hand to your mouth, and this time you didn’t need to be guided. You already knew exactly what to do.

Your tongue attacked your Mommy’s palm. The blood just as thick, poisoned by the darkness of impure magic.

You moaned at the taste of sin on your tongue.

“My good girl…” she groaned low, just as needy as you were.

From that moment on, there was no turning back.

No choices. No freedom.

Only them.

Only you.

Three hearts.

One single curse.

Fueled by reckless courage, you pushed Agatha, making her sit back on her heels.

“Get on all fours,” you ordered, your voice deeper than you remembered it could be.

You saw your Mommy’s eyes flare with fury, her jaw clenched—you knew she wouldn’t give in easily. Not yet.

But then, she obeyed.

Her mature body bent forward, proud and vulnerable, like a sacred and profane offering all at once. Her round ass, dressed in luxurious garments, turned perfectly toward you.

Panting with pure anticipation, you positioned behind her, your hands grabbing her waist with the intensity of someone trying to tear out truths.

“Speak,” you demanded, your fingers digging into her skin, your hips pressing firmly into hers. “Tell me how it happened.”

She gasped. Almost moaned. But tried to hold herself together. Agatha knew exactly what you meant. How was the moment they decided to bind you to them. Forever.

“When… you ran away that day on set…” her voice broke. “When… you went after Josh… we snapped. I snapped.”

You smiled at the memory and began caressing the waistband of her clothes, threatening to pull those useless fabrics off her.

You traced the seam of her outfit, making her tremble. “Speak clear, Mommy.”

“We wanted… an excuse,” she confessed, her fingers curling against the floor. “An excuse to hurt you. Just a small cut. Just enough to bind you to us.”

Oh.

There it was.

That small confession that set your chest on fire.

Without patience, you pushed her hips up, yanking down her pants and panties together. And all you could see was your Mommy’s pale, milky skin, begging to be touched by you.

You pulled her closer, your bodies colliding hard. “And what happened then?”

She moaned loudly, losing control for a moment. “Fuck… you were already cut…”

You froze for a second, heart pounding against your chest. “What did you say?”

“When we saw you… that night… your finger…” Agatha turned slightly, eyes glistening. “You were already hurt. It was a sign. That you were meant to be ours. Woven just for us.”

Your heart stopped.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You couldn’t even begin to describe what those words did to you.

It was as if something tore open inside your chest—but instead of pain, there was feverish warmth, something insane, between ecstasy and despair.

You heard those words like an ancient prophecy. Like every time you cried alone in the dark, every scream stifled in your pillow, all those years believing no one would ever choose you—they had all just been the prelude… to this.

To them.

To that damned and magical knot now burning in your flesh.

And the worst part?

You love it.

Your heart beat too fast, way too fast—not from fear, but from twisted pleasure, rooted in the filthiest corner of your soul.

You didn’t know if you wanted to scream or moan.

If you wanted to run… or crawl back to it.

Because if this was a prison… It was the most beautiful, the warmest, the most intoxicating one you’d ever known.

It was love.

It was madness.

And it was the kind of thing you swore you'd never accept. But now you were here, knees on the ground, the taste of blood on your lips and tears in your eyes from sheer fear and emotion, hearing Agatha say you were made for them.

And part of you wanted to scream yes.

Yes, I was.

Yes, you broke me before you even touched me.

Yes, I was born to be yours.

To bleed for you.

To die—and be reborn—by your hands.

It was sick. It was wrong.

And it was everything you ever wanted.

Agatha licked her own fingers, as if reenacting the moment. “I couldn’t resist. I sucked the blood dripping from your fingertip… and the second it touched my tongue…” She gasped, her eyes rolling back. “You became ours. Forever.”

You grabbed her hair and pulled gently, forcing her to look at you. “And Mama?” you provoked. “Did she take part too?”

Rio, who had been silently observing everything, approached from behind like a ravenous shadow.

"I drank what was left on your skin while you slept," she murmured, her fingers sliding over your hip, urging you to invade Agatha's pussy with your fingers.

"We knew it was cruel." Her Mama flicked her tongue along the curve of your ear. "We knew it was selfish. But... we didn’t know it would hurt this much..."

You felt their bodies pressed against you, like a temple set ablaze.

But now, this temple was all yours.

They had marked you. But now, you were the one in control.

You struggled to breathe as your Mama ground against you from behind, the curve of your ass rubbing perfectly against her clit.

Caressing the flesh in front of you, you whispered, "What do you want, Mommy?"

Agatha gripped the plush carpet, her skin prickling under your wandering hand.

"Honey, Mommy needs you... needs your fingers..."

You smiled, slow and wicked, as your fingers traced Agatha’s soaked entrance, feeling how she already pulsed for you.

"My fingers?" you repeated, dragging your fingertips in torturous circles without penetrating her yet. "Just that?"

Agatha bit her lip, her hips twitching against your hand, but you held firm, denying her what she craved most.

"Please," she moaned, the plea rough and broken.

Rio chuckled darkly behind you, her hands gripping your hips hard as she rutted against your back, your ass grinding her clit.

"She’s so wet for you, baby," your Mama purred, teeth grazing your shoulder. "I don’t think she can wait any longer."

You finally relented, sliding two fingers into Agatha in one deep, firm thrust. She screamed, her body arching like a drawn bow, nails clawing the carpet.

"Yes, my good girl..." she panted, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.

Rio didn’t waste time. Her hands slid to your waist, holding you steady as she rolled her hips, grinding against you in a filthy rhythm. You could feel her heat, the slickness staining your back, and it only made you hungrier.

"You’re controlling her so well..." Rio murmured, her voice a growl in your ear. "Make her moan louder. Make her beg."

You obeyed, quickening your pace inside Agatha, your fingers curling to hit that spot that made her tremble.

"M-More!" Agatha sobbed, legs shaking. "Honey, please—"

"What else do you want, Mommy?" you teased, adding a third finger, stretching her wider.

"You!" she near-howled, eyes glazed with pleasure-tears. "I need all of you!"

Rio laughed, dark and satisfied, before biting your nape. "She’s so desperate... So yours."

You knew Agatha was close. Her body was taut, her moans louder, rougher. And when you finally pressed just right, she shattered.

Her orgasm hit like lightning, her body seizing violently, fingers tearing at the carpet like it was her only anchor. You didn’t stop, fucking her through it, prolonging every wave until she was whimpering, oversensitive and twitching.

Behind you, Rio was just as lost, rutting against your back frantically, her moans muffled against your skin.

You smirked, triumphant, as Rio finally tipped over the edge, her teeth sinking into your shoulder to stifle her cries.

"Now, mommies need to have fun too, don’t they?" Rio slid her bruised hand between your thighs, squeezing just to feel the slickness there.

She laughed, dark and honeyed, as her fingers plunged into you without mercy. "So dripping for us, my devoted little slut..." She pinched your swollen lips, making you gasp.

Agatha, still lying beside you, rose with that predatory grace only she possessed. Her blue eyes burned with renewed hunger.

"You think you can dominate me, honey?" She raked her nails down your thighs, leaving red marks. "Think you can reduce me to this? A whimpering, begging bitch who’s yours?"

Your heart raced. You tried to answer, but Rio was already moving, straddling your face with that wicked smile.

"No, no. No more talking." She lowered her hips, smothering you with her soaked cunt. "Our turn now."

Her scent flooded your senses—salty, sweet, hers. You opened your mouth instinctively, tongue lapping at her folds as Rio rode your face in slow, torturous rolls.

"That’s it, baby... lick properly. Like a good girl."

Meanwhile, Agatha settled between your legs, her long fingers sliding through your slick with cruel calm.

"You left us so hungry..." She pushed two fingers into you at once, no warning, making your back arch. "Think it’s fair we suffer?"

You moaned against Rio, the sound muffled by her heat. Agatha smirked, picking up her pace, her fingers hitting that perfect spot inside you.

"We want to hear you beg, darling." Rio yanked your hair up just enough for you to gasp. "Do it."

You panted, drooling, lips swollen from effort. "P-Please—"

"Please what?" Agatha crooked her fingers, hitting that spongy spot inside you, making you scream.

"Fuck! D-Don’t— Don’t stop! Please, mommies... use me!"

They exchanged a look above you, satisfied.

"There she is..." Rio slammed back down on your face, faster now, her hips slapping your chin. "Good girl."

Agatha, meanwhile, added a third finger, stretching you until pain bled into pleasure.

You were a sweaty, needy mess.

Their scent, Rio’s weight on your mouth, Agatha’s fingers ruining you—it was too much. Your body shook, muscles clenching, your mind reduced to pure instinct.

"Gonna cum, aren’t you?" Agatha snarled, her fingers now brutal. "Then cum. Cum like the obedient little bitch you are."

Rio locked her thighs around your head, her own moans pitching higher. "Cum with Mama, filthy girl."

And you obeyed.

Your orgasm hit like a hurricane, body seizing violently, your cries muffled by Rio’s cunt as she came too, her release dripping down your face.

Agatha didn’t stop, fucking you through it, dragging out every second until you were sobbing, overstimulated and twitching.

Finally, they stilled.

Rio slid off your face, collapsing beside you, while Agatha slowly withdrew her fingers, bringing them to her mouth to suck your taste off with a smirk.

"That was... very good." Rio exhaled with a half-sated smile. "But Mama wants more." She knelt on the floor again, crawling over the carpet until she loomed over you.

"Up, pet. On all fours." She patted your thigh three times, positioning you exactly where she wanted. "Mama wants to try something, sweetheart."

Rio shot a wicked grin at her wife, who rose and went to their dresser, pulling out—

A strap.

Black.

Thick.

Massive.

You gasped, your ass instinctively lifting, and Rio cackled.

"So responsive..." She stroked your skin. "Mama wants to claim you every way possible." Her lips brushed your nape with devotion, goosebumps erupting down your spine.

Agatha sits at the edge of the bed, legs spread like a flower. A sharp slap lands on your ass. “Crawl to your Mommy.”

You obey.

Now face-to-face with her swollen, glistening cunt, your tongue slips out instinctively, ravenous for her again.

Rio smacks your ass hard, leaving the flesh quivering. “Look at this bitch already offering her ass without being told,” she laughs, stroking the red mark with her fingers. “Gonna beg for this cock, aren’t you, pet?”

You moan, arching deeper, your body betraying your need. Agatha, seated on the edge of the bed with her thighs spread, slaps them twice.

“Crawl here, slut. Come clean Mommy’s pussy before you take your Mama's cock.”

You obey, dragging yourself across the carpet like a bitch in heat. When you’re close, your tongue darts out automatically, worshiping her swollen lips.

“That’s it, my greedy little whore,” Agatha gasps, fisting your hair and grinding your face into her. “Get that tongue in my ass too, you filthy thing. I want you everywhere.”

Fuck.

The women are relentless.

You feel yourself throbbing, something inside you begging to be consumed.

Taken. Claimed.

As you obey, frantically licking between her lips, Rio positions herself behind you. The sound of a leather harness tightening makes you shiver.

You feel Rio’s fingers trace your rim, sliding one inside slowly, making you clench and swallow her perfectly.

“Shh, that’s it, sweetheart. So good,” Rio praises, stroking your soaked pussy, drawing another moan. She chuckles, the sound like music. “See? When I tease you here, your little ass opens right up. Your whole body’s begging for it.”

Instantly, you grind back, taking two of Rio’s fingers.

“Look at the size of this cock for this needy slut,” Rio taunts, rubbing the thick black strap against your dripping entrance. “Gonna cry when it’s all the way in, huh?”

Agatha yanks your hair, forcing eye contact. Her gaze is glassy with lust. “She loves it, my love. Bet her tight little ass is clenching around nothing… desperate to be stretched, aren’t you, baby?”

All you manage is a broken “Yes” before Rio slams into you, ripping a raw scream from your throat.

“FUCK YES!” Agatha shouts, grinding her clit against your face. “Stuff that tight little ass! Make her feel who’s in charge!”

Rio grips your hips and pounds mercilessly, every thrust bottoming out. “You like that, baby whore? Like being reshaped around my cock?”

Fuck.

Your eyes roll back into your skull.

“Fuck. Fuck. God. Yes! Please—use all my holes!” You scream against Agatha, your tongue still working her automatically as your body is destroyed from behind.

“That’s it, my pet. Suck Mommy’s clit like the good little cunt-slut you are,” Agatha moans, nails digging into your scalp.

Rio picks up the pace, hips slamming into you. “I wanna hear this bitch scream! Scream, slut! Scream who’s fucking you!”

Fuck.

No.

This is too much.

You feel like you’ll die.

The thick cock plunging in and out, splitting you open.

Rio’s rhythm is relentless—every thrust calculated to hit that spot that makes your legs shake. You’re being devoured by them, torn between Agatha’s tongue and Rio’s strap destroying you from behind.

It’s too much.

It’s perfect.

“MAMA! MAMA’S FUCKING ME!” you howl, tears streaming.

Agatha loses her mind, teetering on the edge of a violent climax. “YES, FUCK! STUFF HER LITTLE ASS! BREAK THIS WHORE WIDE OPEN!”

When the orgasm hits her, it’s like an earthquake—her body convulses, but she quickly composes herself and climbs off the bed.

Rio lands a brutal slap on your ass, flesh jiggling. “Enough playing, pet. Get on the bed and spread those legs,” she orders, pulling the black strap free with a wet, filthy sound that makes you whimper.

You obey instantly, crawling to the center of the bed, legs spread, body still trembling. Agatha returns, adjusting a shimmering purple strap around her hips. The contrast is divine—Rio, brutal and domineering; Agatha, elegantly cruel.

“Look at me,” Agatha commands, gripping your chin. “That ass belongs to Mama, but Mommy wants your cunt.”

She rubs the purple strap’s head against your swollen lips, and you don’t hesitate, opening your mouth to lick and suck like a good girl.

“That’s it, my greedy little slut,” Agatha gasps, tangling her fingers in your hair. “Get it nice and wet for Mommy to wreck that tight little pussy.”

Rio, impatient, is already behind you, the black strap dripping with lube and your own slick. “Let’s fill this little witch from both ends,” she snarls, lining the tip at your ass again.

Agatha doesn’t wait.

The moment you release the purple strap from your mouth, she presses its head to your entrance, circling slowly. “Ready to take both, love? Think you can handle it?”

Fuck.

You’re not.

Fuck.

Is this really happening?

Fuck.

All you choke out is a “Yes”—you couldn’t say anything else—before Rio rams the black strap into your ass with a brutal thrust, making you shriek. Agatha doesn’t hold back—once your body adjusts, she drives the purple strap into your pussy, inch by inch, until you’re utterly filled.

“HOLY FUCK!” You roar. God, this is too good!

“FUCK, LOOK AT HER TAKING BOTH!” Rio shouts, gripping your hips hard.

Agatha moans loudly, eyes fluttering shut. “My God, our girl’s so fucking tight,” she whispers, starting a slow, torturous rhythm. “Tell Mommy how good it feels. Tell me.” Her voice is sly, coaxing a needy, drawn-out whine from you.

Your tongue surrenders the space in your mouth, proving what an obedient bitch-in-heat you are.

“Yes, Mommy! Yes! Fuck—so good!” You sob, eyes rolling as both straps hit your sweet spots in sync.

Rio, of course, has no patience for gentleness. She pounds hard and fast, each thrust driving Agatha’s purple strap deeper into your G-spot.

“That’s it, my love! Wreck her ass while I ruin that pretty cunt!” Agatha moans, digging her nails into your thighs. “I want her coming on both of us!”

You’re lost in a storm of sensation—the delicious burn of Rio’s black strap splitting your ass, Agatha’s purple strap grinding your deepest spot, their voices snarling filth in your ears.

“Who owns you, huh?” Rio growls, smacking your ass hard, snapping you back to awareness. “Who’s your queen? Your goddess?” She speeds up.

“YOU!” you scream, clawing the sheets. “You, Mommies!”

Rio yanks your hair back, forcing your head up. Agatha sinks her teeth into your neck with a satisfied growl.

“Oh, Mommies! It hurts! Fuck! It hurts, but it’s so good!” Your mouth runs wild, your brain erased by their dominance.

You’re a dumb slut.

But you’re their dumb slut.

"That's it, our little slut," Agatha gasped, picking up the pace. "Now fucking cum! Cum on your mommies' cocks!"

There was no resisting.

How could you?

All this time, everything you'd done—every act of obedience—had been the spell controlling your mind. But now, more than ever, you wanted to obey.

Not because of the spell.

Because you belonged to them now. And they belonged to you.

Three hearts.

One curse.

Your body erupted in a violent orgasm, your walls clamping down on their straps as if trying to keep them inside you forever. Rio and Agatha didn’t stop, fucking you through your climax until their own moans grew louder, rougher.

Finally, they pulled out at the same time, leaving you to collapse face-first onto the bed, a mess of fluids dripping from your wrecked holes.

You fell back against Agatha’s body as she gathered your limp, exhausted form, cradling your head against her chest.

"Our good girl," she murmured, pulling you into a clumsy kiss. "You have no idea how much Mommy missed you, darling. Mommy loves you so much..."

There it was.

Her confession.

And the smile she gave you was so bright.

So real.

You would never dare doubt those words.

Then Rio wrapped around you as if you were made of glass. The melancholic artist, so cruel just minutes ago, now looked at you like you were the most precious painting she’d ever created.

She brushed the sweat-damp hair from your forehead with fingers still smudged in dried blood and whispered against your skin:

"My little princess."

You closed your eyes. And for the first time... there was no weight.

No exhaustion.

Just warmth.

And the absurd, almost terrifying sensation of being whole.

Rio rocked you gently while Agatha fetched a damp cloth, cleaning between your thighs with extreme care, wiping away the blood, the mess. You whimpered softly—not in pain, but in comfort.

In devotion.

"You were so good," Agatha whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "So strong."

You wanted to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both.

How could you feel like this after everything? After the pain, the madness, the blood?

Whole.

You felt powerful.

And it wasn’t borrowed, like those times you’d faked control.

This time, it was real.

You had surrendered. You had been claimed. And yet, here, with their hands tending to you... you felt like you’d won.

Rio smoothed warm lavender-scented cream over your marked skin, massaging the tender flesh between your thighs where the night’s intensity still pulsed.

"Sore?" she asked, and you shook your head, pouting.

"Mmm... but I liked it."

She grinned, wide and bright, as if you’d just whispered the sweetest secret in the world.

"You're so brave... It's hard to try new things like this for the first time. Fear can get in the way. But you're special, aren't you?"

The smile she gave you was laced with pride, with a love so deep you nearly forgot how to breathe.

Agatha lay beside you, pulling you both into her arms. Her embrace enveloped you completely—a nest, a sanctuary.

"I knew," she murmured. "From the very first day. That you were a special girl. So smart. So creative. You'll have the world." Mommy promises.

You nestled between them, kissing Rio’s shoulder and gripping Agatha’s hand tight.

Closing your eyes, you surrendered to the heat of their bodies, to the mingled scents of magic, damp earth, and lavender.

Rio kissed your forehead. Agatha tangled her fingers with yours. And you, between them, sighed like someone who had finally come home.

There was no more pain. No more doubt.

Just this.

This twisted love.

This eternal spell.

This prison built from the most perfectly perverse materials—desire, fear, madness... and care.

And you accepted it.

Accepted it like swallowing poison knowing it was the only thing that could ever heal you.

Accepted it because this curse... was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

It was the touch that warmed your skin even on the coldest nights.

Their gaze that stripped you bare only to dress you in something better, something stronger, something truer.

The sense of belonging you’d spent your whole life searching for—and only found here, on your knees at their altar, marked in blood and pleasure.

It was wrong.

It was dangerous.

And yet, it was everything.

It was everything you’d ever wanted.

~*~

Well, in their defense, if you hadn't asked for this... you'd have your holes untouched.... Okay, maybe not 😞

Tag List <3

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[scribbledswans]

Hi u can call me bun anon or just 🐰

please PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE 007N7 X DEITY READER PLEASE AUGJFHFGBFH im in love w ur works like what they're so good 💔💔

- 🐰

it is 3 am as i am writing this but ive been meaning to do this one for a hot minute i just needed to think abt the dynamic and got too many ideas so here!

I imagine this to be like .. you have known 007n7 for longer than he's known you. You watched him terrorize the pizza place, you watched him torment the robloxians, you watched him adopt a child that very much was a demon. The rest of the deities saw him as problematic and while that was true for the start, you became fond of watching him grow. Maybe you grew along with him.

It'd be ESPECIALLY cool if exploiting from a "robloxia is one big expansive magical world" pov worked kinda like warlock/demon pact. You were a deity of chaos, set on causing as much havoc as you can without anyone getting hurt. 007n7 was your muse, your patron, your destructive tool. over time both of you grew bored of it. Over time maybe you grew more interested in eachother; Turning away from your responsibilities as a deity to devour any knowledge you could get. Maybe, you apologized for enabling him ruining his reputation. Maybe coolkid was your gift to remind him of old times spent.

Sometimes he yearns to touch you. Sometimes you let him. Being a former deity of chaos, its too risky sometimes. He takes what he can get, always locking his hands with yours when its an option. Sometimes it burns like he's touching hell, other times your hands are colder than sub zero.

Even after the pact had long since been released, 007n7 still devotes himself to pleasing you, even since your interests have changed from chaos to peace. He still references you in his coolgui code.

[mina-org]

୨୧Monster concept

୨୧captain price, gaz, ghost, & johnny as monsters

୨୧ word count: 1000

୨୧Warnings: monster fucking not smut tho, implied in gaz n soap, yandere themes &tropes, dark romance, mentions to death, dying and bones

୨୧captain price as a hunter

୨୧ inspired by Herne the hunter, tw for suicide if you read the original tale but I won’t be mentioning it.

୨୧ The tales of prices’ woods were conflicting; some groundskeepers thrived, the sweetest fruits grown and the harvests would be consistently good for half centuries, than others who didn't survive a night, starved during winters, seemingly promising harvest would be found rotten at the last moment. In every tale however, no one leaves.

୨୧ Price is as old as the land he protects, he’s shed his antlers more time then he can remember and though he loves his eternal chase through the forest but his affection for human has waned after these years. However, there's a shiny new groundskeeper moving in and he always finds some enjoyment from them, whether it's from working with them or working against them, price always has fun.

୨୧ Lucky for you, price has deemed you a mortal he likes, you don't exploit his land, you end the culls on badgers and the needless fox hunt, you don’t take too much. Price adores your company, so he gives you gifts, the sweetest fruits you never planted, fruits you had never seen before, you had heard tales of the new world having such bounties you should've known it would’ve come at a price. The next time you try to go to town, the forest is endless, by dusk you arrive back at your cottage, an otherworldly being waiting for you.

୨୧ Ghost as a werewolf

୨୧ Six men, six of the village’s best hunters had been dragged out their home to the woods, only their bones remind at the tree line, like the creature was mocking the them. You had found a few scattering your herb garden, you did not tell the town, afraid of their accusations. You were already an albatross of sorts, bringing it up would only bring misfortune on you and your garden, the councilmen were always so quick to point fingers. You had warned them if the over hunting continued nature would return the favour but you had been laughed off the stand. 

୨୧ The new butcher was strange. He frequented your shop, trading you meat for your supply of wolfsbane, smelled of wet dog and seemingly had no clothes that fit him. His scent lingers, haunts your shop, sticks your person and invades your home. Even when he’s not there, you wake to his smell, like he's skulking, leering through your walls. He gives you first pick though along with any tallow and of course bones.

୨୧ More and more people go missing, you cannot walk to the forest without stumbling over bones. The council calls a meeting, the wolf has started picking off the councilmen leading their once icy oblivion turning into paranoia ready to burn their own once again. lucky for them a butcher was eager to step in and he stuck out. So strange compared to the overs but he demanded attention, barking plans and orders. Impressive really a true wolf in sheep’s clothing, humans will believe anything but the truth.

୨୧ Soap as nessie

୨୧ You had seen the monster once as a child, now with a shiny new camera and degree in film, you'd prove nessie was no hoax or farce but a real creature haunting the loch, lurking beneath the water. It’s practically deserted, not surprising, snow so heavy the roads are blocked, no one enters, no one leaves. Just you and a groundskeeper? Or was he a fisherman? It didn’t matter, but he did indulge you.

୨୧ a week goes by and nothing. No tail, no head, no body, not until the last night, well supposedly the last night. A hump had showed up, and you had caught it on camera, it was tantalising, so close, like you could feel the scales beneath your fingertips. You couldn't let this slip away. You would grasp on to this, even if it was just a hump. So you extended the trip, luckily enough, Johnny, who turned out to be a nessie fanatic too, had a cabin nearby and helped you with his own theories, even suggesting camera angles and how the species may work as a whole, though the population and how the creature breeds or is seemingly immortal is still unknown.

.୨୧ An extra week, turns into months and you finally have enough footage. You're so thankful to Johnny and accredit so much to him, you’ve grown so close to him and you leaving brings a sadness over the cabin, though Johnny is eager to push the rain clouds away, throwing you a bonfire goodbye party, though its still just the two of you. The fire burns bright and long into the night as a full moon rises to its apex and Johnny shares a secret with how the species reproduces.

୨୧ gaz as a siren

୨୧ who knew collecting seashells would be your fatal mistake. Looking out you see a body submerged, with a sort of incandescence you’ve never seen before and rush over playing the good, pure prey gaz so often found himself indulging in when sailors and fishermen were just too much work, plus you smelt so much sweeter.

୨୧ “s/o” A melodic whisper calls you forward, closer and closer, and gaz realises he’s found himself a treasure, his very own pearl. No longer prey, a mate. Gaz’s cave had been feeling lonely of late, after what's the point of having such a bounty with no mate to enjoy it with. The lovelorn melancholy also radiates off you in waves and gaz recognises it and he’ll fix that for his treasure.

୨୧ You feel his tail twitch beneath you as he sits you on his lap on the shore. He feels assured once you're stunned to silence, staring at the way his tail scales glistens and shimmer under the bright noon. You follow his scales up his body until you met his golden eyes, missing the razor sharp teeth hidden behind his pretty lips. The same plush lips soon press against your pulse, “pretty pearl, give yourself to me.” you can only nod, in the presence of the almost celestial being, completely ensnared.

[normalaboutmediaa]

Hm. Saw a tag about Severance and the oppression of youth and children and like. Oh yeah how the fuck didn't I see that.

The Innies are essentially children in a lot of ways, but the parallels to how they're treated on the severed floor to how real children are often treated in society is. Kinda crazy.

You wake up one day a fully formed thing- you have thoughts, feelings, emotions, and an entire body with which to feel and experience all that. You do not know where you are or why you have been brought here, but you are surrounded by people suddenly telling you what to do, where to go, and how to act. There are several rules - some spoken, some unspoken, and the breaking of these rules results in punishment and shame. You cannot choose what you wear, where you go, or what you do. You are placed in front of an activity and told to do it, but any questions as to 'why' are often ignored or placated with meaningless answers.

When the Break Room was first introduced, it was extremely reminiscent to me of the practice of making children write lines. If you're unfamiliar, a common disciplinary tactic is to have a child write something like 'i will not interrupt the teacher' over and over again, often until the teacher feels that the lesson has gotten through their head satisfactorily. The idea is that repeated exposure to the idea of 'correct' behavior will instill the lesson in the child's mind, along with the task being tedious and boring enough that most kids won't re-offend just to avoid having to write the lines again.

So, we've got rewards systems, punishments, and a general sense of being below the authority figures in the situation and having no power. And then there's Miss Huang. A literal, actual child who is placed in a position of authority. Obviously there's a more literal parallel to be drawn there about child labor and exploitation, but I think there's something to be said about the way we teach children to police each other's behavior as well. She's a hall monitor, essentially, she's been given power over people who are actually technically younger than her and seems to see the job as an honor or at least a promotion from her last one.

Importantly, I don't think the show is TRYING to comment on how we treat children in our society. I don't think that's a primary theme that was on the creators mind, but it's there nonetheless. While very few would ever admit it or think of it in this exact way, the sentiment of 'I am a person, you are not' rings true to how a lot of parents and adults in general view children as less than human or being only 'half' a person, and hold them to impossibly high standards for good behavior as a result. The way the Outies see the Innies as just extensions of themselves that they can force to do or become whatever they want is very toxic parent-child relationship coded.

Anyway- kids are full people and you should treat them nicely. They aren't just here to fulfill your dreams and follow your rules.